Kissing

The young are walking on the riverbank
arms around each other’s waist and shoulders,
pretending to be looking at the waterlilies
and what might be a nest of some kind, over
there, which two who are clamped together
mouth to mouth have forgotten about.
The others, making courteous detours
around them, talk, stop talking, kiss.
They can see no one older than themselves.
It’s their river. They’ve got all day.

Seeing’s not everything. At this very
moment the middle-aged are kissing
in the backs of taxis, on the way
to airports and stations. Their mouths and tongues
are soft and powerful and as moist as ever.
Their hands are not inside each other’s clothes
(because of the driver) but locked so tightly
together that it hurts: it may leave marks
on their not of course youthful skin, which they won’t
notice. They too may have futures.

I don’t get it guys. If you don’t like the poem why bother commenting and offending the writer? What is your problem? How would you like it. Now get off your backside, write a poem, post on here and you get insulted by a bunch of ten year olds behind a computer screen. >:@

Hi !
This is a nice poem!
To get straight to the point . I need help in getting an analysis for the poem. Its an easy task but im not half satisfied with mine and I’d appreciate if someone could help me . :D